Date: Fri, 12 Jun 2020 19:36:36 -0500
From: Bryce Manning <brycemanningfiction@gmail.com>
Subject: The Senior's Flip Flops

Comments, questions, gripes? Email brycemanningfiction@gmail.com

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The Senior's Flip Flops

By Bryce Manning

Author's Note: I wrote this story with a significant foot fetish element
hoping that might limit my page count (it really didn't work), but if
feet aren't a total turn off you might still find it fun.

I'm sitting in my Advanced Placement English class, struggling to pay
attention as the teacher lectures about the novel we're reading. I don't
even remember the title right now. I'm looking at her, a pencil in my
hand, but I'm thinking solely about Blake. Passing him on the stairs as I
walked to third period had ensured, once again, that he was the only
subject my mind could handle.

Blake is 6' tall, maybe 190 pounds, undoubtedly more muscular than 95% of
the guys at the school. His blond hair is cropped short, almost a buzz
cut, his face always clean-shaven. I'd only been brave enough to actually
look into his eyes a couple of times, but they were the most beautiful,
sparkling blue I've ever seen. Blake's skin is richly tanned like he
spends countless outside, his arms and legs covered in a light dusting of
fine hair. He's always grinning a perfect white smile, always laughing
jovially with his friends whenever our paths cross. Hearing his deep,
manly voice makes me melt.

I found the most perfect parts of Blake the very first time I noticed him
walking toward me, as my eyes drank in the stunning sight of the hottest
man I'd ever seen. When my glance drifted down his muscular legs, I
realized he was wearing flip flops. My gaze was immediately glued to his
nearly naked feet, cast down to the tile floor until they finally crept
past me.

Like the rest of Blake, his feet were flawless. They were size twelves at
least, maybe even bigger, and they were wide, on the verge of being too
wide for the dark brown leather flip flops that contained them. The tops
were as darkly tanned as the rest of his body, his toes a medium length,
the index toes slightly longer than the big ones. All his nails were
perfectly trimmed and completely clean, his tan making them seem
impossibly white. I'd never seen a masculine guy with such well-groomed
feet in my life.

The sight of Blake had been enough to make my dick chub up, but seeing
his incredible feet had made it painfully hard. I reacted quickly, moving
the book in my hand over my crotch to hide my throbbing desire from the
dozens of other people walking around me. Ever since that first chance
encounter, the one I'm sure he didn't even notice, I've been obsessed
with Blake Harrison.

I'd learned his name within the day by stalking the social media profiles
of other students, eventually finding a picture of a group of seniors
that had Blake tagged. I felt excited clicking that link, expecting that
it would lead me to dozens of stunning portraits of my new crush, but
Blake's profiles were all private. Aside from a few tiny thumbnail-sized
images of his grinning face, they yielded only his name. I'd have to
settle for seeing him in real life.

After weeks of blatantly gawking several times a day, he'd noticed me
checking him out countless times in the hallways or on the stairs. I'm
sure he's used to that though. Everyone must constantly be checking him
out. I tried to restrain myself, but I treasured those glimpses of Blake
too much to give them up. I found myself thinking about him constantly.
He was the man of my dreams, the kind of guy I'd always fantasized about
when I jerked off. Now I was easily doing that two, three, even four
times a night, picturing Blake's grin, the muscles on his tall frame, the
perfect size 12 feet resting in the flip flops he always wore. I knew I
was a mess.

I didn't think my infatuation could get worse, but that's when football
season started. On game days, the members of the team always wear their
jerseys to class. When I spied Blake during our first hallway meeting of
the day, I immediately noticed the mesh fabric of his blue jersey. Of
course he was on the football team. As Blake drew closer, my gaze drifted
down to his white gym shorts, past his bulky legs, finally finding his
feet still clad in that same pair of leather flip flops. I heard him
laughing cockily as he passed by, wishfully imagining that he was
intentionally teasing me even though I knew it wasn't true. I had to
cover my bulge up yet again. I don't know why thinking about Blake
wearing a full football uniform was so hot.

I suddenly hear laughter, my reverie breaking. Looking around the room, I
have no idea why the entire class had just burst out. I stare down at the
blank notebook in front of me as the teacher starts talking again. I
don't know how to fix this. How do I get my focus back? How do I stop
thinking about him all the time?

I've had intense crushes before, but my obsession with Blake is the worst
one yet. I know it's the most pointless one too. Just looking at him,
seeing the way he interacts with his friends, I know he's straight. Even
if Blake were miraculously bi, I know he'd want a guy who looks like one
of his muscular football buddies, not someone like me.

People always say I'm cute, but I'm also small: 5'7" and 140 pounds, a
wiry kid who can barely grow facial hair, nevermind any on my body. I'm
16, but people who don't know me automatically assume I'm a freshman. I'm
good at running but I've never lifted a weight or played a sport in my
life. I know I'm way out of Blake's league.

The bell rings, snapping me out of my obsession again. I'd spent almost
an hour sitting in this class and I'd learned absolutely nothing. I know
I can't spend the whole year doing this every single day. Blake is
ruining my life.

***

Looking around my dark bedroom, suddenly feeling sober after my fourth
Blake-inspired orgasm of the night, I admit to myself that I'll never
have him. He doesn't even know I exist, and if he did he wouldn't care. I
need to move on. I try to sleep, tossing and turning for at least an
hour, when Blake inevitably creeps into my thoughts again. I wish I could
sniff the sweatsoaked leather soles of the flip flops he wears every
single day. I wish I could know what his hot jock body smells like.

If I can't have Blake, I resolve, maybe I can be content having a part of
him that will help me fulfill my lust. I'd take anything I could get: a
sweaty shirt, a musty jockstrap, a smelly pair of his football cleats.
Anything. Anything at all. How could I ever pull that off? I finally
drift to sleep fantasizing about the possibilities.

***

I waste another school day imagining how I might steal a part of Blake.
By the time the dismissal bell rings, I'd committed to the first step of
a plan: I was going to start following Blake around after school, looking
for an opening. I felt crazy as I donned my backpack, walked out of the
classroom, and consciously held myself back from sprinting toward the
gym.

The building is tucked away at the back of the school campus, bordering
the athletic fields and the football stadium. I'd been there a couple
dozen times when we were forced to assemble in the bleachers of the
basketball court for pep rallies, so I know the sidewalk I'm traversing
leads directly to the main entrance. I figured this is where I would
first spot Blake.

Walking around the building, I notice that there are two other entrances:
one leading out to the baseball field and track complex and another to
the stadium. I know the latter is where I'll see Blake again, dressed out
in full gear on his way to practice, accompanied by the rest of the
football team and their coaches.

I've devoted the whole day to plotting a bold heist. I'm going to sneak
into the football team's locker room and seize something that belongs to
Blake. Maybe I really am crazy. The only realistic opportunities I'll
have to penetrate the building will be while the players are out
practicing on the field or after they finish and go home. Deciding my
best option would require substantial surveillance. I need to figure out
how long it takes everyone to get over to the stadium, how long they
spend practicing, and how long they take to shower and leave the gym. I
feel even crazier thinking about exactly what it will take to accomplish
my mission, but I shrug it off. Blake made me this way, and now I need
his help to overcome my obsession. I don't have a choice.

Circling back to my starting point, I plant myself at a picnic table that
overlooks the gym's main entrance, opening my backpack and laying out a
couple books to make it seem like I'm reading for class. I open one to a
random page, my glance actually fixed on the sidewalk beyond. Guys are
steadily streaming into the building, and plenty of girls too. I'd been
so fixated on Blake I completely forgot they had teams. How many locker
rooms are in that huge gym? I'd only seen the basketball court at the
center and the hallway that leads to it. Opening the wrong door could
easily ruin everything.

Then I see Blake's figure in the distance, his blond, tanned visage
unmistakable as he struts up the gym. I can just barely make out the
sound of his leather flip flops clapping against the sidewalk as he draws
closer, disappearing inside the building. Seeing him again, I decide the
risks are worth it if there's even a slim chance I can succeed. I know
this is insane, but I need to have a piece of Blake.

I stow my decoy homework and relocate to a grove of trees that overlooks
the gym entrance leading to the stadium, sitting down in the grass. I
pull out another book, not even knowing which one I'm holding, not
bothering to read any of the words on the pages, periodically casting my
glance up to the doors. After fifteen boring minutes, I finally spy the
first guy in football pads emerging. A couple dozen others filter out of
the building before I spot Blake, now clad in that same blue jersey I'd
seen him wear on his first game day, this time stretched over shoulder
pads that make him look huge. He was holding a helmet in his hand, the
white football pants and white crew socks stretching up from his cleats
contrasting beautifully with his bronze skin. He's so perfect.

For a moment, I imagine him fucking me dressed just like that. Football
helmet on, pants pulled down low enough to unleash his dick, his gloved
hands gripping my ankles as he plunges his length in and out of my ass. I
can't even imagine how amazing his feet must smell after a long, sweaty
practice. I bite my lip, feeling my cock getting hard. I know I need to
focus.

Fifteen minutes after my first sighting, the stream of players and
coaches seems to cease. I imagine Blake out on the football field right
now, his muscles bulging, sweating into all the gear I'd just seen him
wearing. That's what I want to swipe the most, but I know it's all
probably destined for a laundry pile as soon as they change. Or do they
take everything home and wash it all themselves? Either way, one of the
coaches probably locks the door after all the players leave. I wouldn't
have a chance of penetrating the locker room then. My best opportunity is
now.

I drop my book into my backpack, throwing it over my shoulder and
starting to walk toward the entrance the football team had just emerged
from. I wasn't sure how long the practice would last, but I only needed
five minutes. My heart pumps faster as I draw closer to the building, my
mind racing to think through a cover story if I get caught. I decide to
claim I'm writing a story for the school paper about athletics, that I
felt like I needed to see a locker room in order to accurately describe
one. The excuse would fold with the slightest checking, but maybe it
would suffice if someone caught me. I don't care anyway. I have to do
this.

My hand is shaking as I pull one of the gym doors open, cool air thick
with the sweaty, masculine scent of a locker room flooding over me.
Walking into a hallway I'd never seen before, I notice several doors
labeled only with numbers. I know I'm in way over my head, but I can't
stop now. I take a deep breath and slightly open the first door I reach,
peering inside. It's deserted, a stretch of rows of small lockers that
are secured with padlocks. Seeing those big shoulder pads on Blake, I
know this can't be right. I let the door creak closed.

I can hear the screeching of shoes on the basketball court beyond. A
whistle blows, a man's voice yelling out something incomprehensible.
Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. This is so dangerous, so stupid,
but thinking about Blake's perfect feet in those leather flip flops
drives me to creep even deeper into the gym.

I notice a billboard covered with information about the varsity football
team, another door next to it. Maybe that's the one. I open it slightly
just like the first one I tried, glancing into the room. There are rows
of deep, open boxes lining the walls, clothes and bookbags stowed within.
A couple benches are positioned at the center of the space. This feels
right. I glance over both my shoulders, seeing no one else around, my
heart pounding harder than ever as I take another deep breath and slip
inside.

Names and numbers are taped above the cubbies. I survey them intently,
looking for Blake's, when I notice a pair of flip flops resting inside
one of the boxes. My heart skips a beat. Approaching it, I see his last
name spelled out on the wall: HARRISON. Number 21.

Oh my god, Blake's flip flops! Oh my god! I reach my hand out and run my
fingers across the leather, the closest I've ever come to touching him.
My dick is filling out as I start to grab the shoes, and then I realize
the shirt and shorts he'd been wearing earlier are here too, a pair of
plaid boxers that had actually touched his dick resting right on top. I'd
struck gold. I wanted to smell it all right here, to rip my dick out of
my pants and jerk off while I finally inhaled Blake's scent, but I knew I
could have company at any moment. I pulled my backpack off like a madman,
unzipping it and piling all the treasures inside. I literally start to
run out of the room, bookbag still in hand, throwing the locker room door
open and tearing down the hallway like I'd just stolen a million dollars.

I'm not just crazy, I'm fucking crazy. I can't believe I did that!
Breaching the gym doors, I finally slow down, not wanting to look
suspicious to the other students who might be meandering around. I strap
my backpack on, calmly walking back around the gym to the sidewalk that
led to campus.

For a moment I feel guilty, realizing that Blake is going to come back
from practice and feel completely dumbfounded that all of his stuff is
gone. But it's his fault. He forced my hand. He was straight and
hopelessly unobtainable, enchanting me more than any guy ever had,
locking my brain into an overpowering obsession that was consuming me. I
decided Blake's life was perfect enough that he could afford a day of
minor inconvenience, especially if his slight misfortune meant
permanently fixing mine.

Clearing the school's front gate, I start power walking back to my house,
moving so fast my calves are aching just halfway into the journey. My
legs start to feel like lead, threatening to give out, as my pace slows
to a plod. At least no one could stop me now. I was free and clear, and
this was going to be the best evening of my life.

Reaching my front door, I open it as quietly as I can, carefully creeping
up the stairs to my room. I'm desperate to avoid being inconvenienced by
my parents. I close the door softly, locking it, and throw the bag full
of loot down on my bed as I immediately strip off my clothes.

I lay down naked, my dick already rock hard in anticipation, reaching
into the backpack and removing Blake's things, carefully piling them next
to me. I pick up one of his flip flops first. Holding it up to my face, I
can tell he's been wearing them for a very long time, the imprints of his
perfect toes visible against the leather. I pull it closer, sniffing
hard, breathing in the faint smell of Blake's sweaty foot. It's sharp,
intense, but just barely perceptible. I feel a little disappointed,
wishing I could have stolen his football cleats instead. Those must smell
like heaven.

I cast the flip flop aside and grab Blake's boxers next. I hold the
crotch right up to my nose, sniffing hard. He'd only worn these for the
school day, but I can still detect the musky scent of his dick and balls.
I've never had sex, but I feel like this is what it smells like. Even if
the scent is slight, it's intoxicating. I start imagining how intense it
must be after a long practice. That must be when Blake smells the best.

I set the boxers down and reach for his shirt next, holding it up above
my face when I suddenly hear a knock at my door. Shit!

"Dylan, are you home?" my mom asks uncertainly.

"Yeah!" I call back, my brain scrambling. "I have to submit this homework
by 8:00 and then I'll come down!"

"Dinner is on the table now if you want a break," she invites, blissfully
unaware that I have some jock's sweaty t-shirt in my hands.

"A couple more paragraphs and I'll be there!" I lie from the bed, hoping
she'll walk away. I hear her footsteps retreating. Thank God my parents
respect my privacy.

The interruption made my dick go soft, but I hoped Blake's shirt could
easily change that. It's a size large, the pits still damp with his
sweat. I draw one of the wet spots to my nose, feeling the moisture
against my nostrils as I breathe in the scent. There's a heavy note of
deodorant, but the pungent aroma of a man is obvious, stronger than it
was on anything else I'd sampled. I shudder, feeling goosebumps all over
my body as I try to focus my senses on his primal odor. It's strong,
powerful, rich with overwhelming pheromones. This is what masculinity
smells like.

I start jerking my cock, the sweaty pit of Blake's shirt resting against
my nose, imagining pulling the cleats off his feet after a long practice.
Blake is still wearing the bulky shoulder pads as I strip his wet socks
off, plunging my face into his big soles and greedily lapping my tongue
at the intense sweat. I picture him throwing me down over the bench in
the locker room, arrogantly grinning as he shoves his dick inside my ass,
his deep voice calling me names as he starts to fuck me hard. Sweat is
dripping off his ripped body and down on to mine as he pummels my guts. I
feel myself approaching the edge. Within seconds my face contorts and my
balls tighten as the climax overtakes me, the most intense pleasure I've
ever felt exploding through my whole body. Massive streams of cum squirt
out of my dick and paint my whole torso, barely missing Blake's shirt.

Laying there panting, finally satisfied, feeling warm cum all over my
skin, I know I can't keep Blake's things forever. I feel horrible. The
pang of guilt I'd experienced as I darted away from the gym cascades into
overpowering remorse. I can't believe I've selfishly hurt Blake trying to
fulfill my own insane desires. I need to make things right.

I meant it, but I still jerked off four more times with Blake's stuff
that night, even slipping my size 9 feet into his huge flip flops. After
five orgasms I felt worse than ever. I knew I'd be standing in the
football team's locker room again tomorrow.

***

When I saw Blake in the hallway the next day, I couldn't bring myself to
look at his face. My eyes immediately wandered down to his feet, seeing
that he was wearing a pair of black Nike running shoes for the first time
since the school year had started. I felt disgusted with myself. That was
my fault. I lost another day not paying attention to anything, but this
time I was busy beating myself up. I'm a bad person, a crazy person, and
I definitely don't deserve Blake.

The whole day was torture. My classes dragged on endlessly, and when the
final bell rang I felt like I'd served a life sentence. I didn't
experience a hint of anxiety retracing my steps to the gym, positioning
myself in the grove of trees that overlooked the path to the football
stadium again. I didn't bother with pulling out a book this time. Instead
I just watched the sidewalk, feeling embarrassed about my abhorrent
behavior, as the varsity football players strode out in their gear. Ten
minutes after the last man had traversed the path, I started down toward
the doors, pressing myself back into the building where I'd trespassed
yesterday.

This time I knew exactly where to go, mournfully walking past the team's
billboard, praying I wouldn't find a soul inside as I turned the handle
of the locker room door. I felt relieved seeing it was just as deserted
as last time, stepping in and yanking my backpack off. I unzipped it as I
approached Blake's cubby, reaching for the clothes I'd left neatly folded
inside and placing them on top of what he'd deposited here today. Seeing
Blake's black athletic shoes again, socks wadded up by the tongues, I
feel so regretful. I'm also seriously tempted to steal them, imagining
they must smell so much better than his favorite footwear had. What the
fuck is wrong with me? No, I can't hurt Blake like that again. I grab the
flip flops from my bag, looking at them longingly one last time as I rub
my fingers against the worn leather. I knew they'd be back on his feet
tomorrow, back where they belonged.

"What the fuck?" I suddenly hear from behind me.

I know I recognize that voice. I freeze, the flip flops still in hand,
twisting my head in terror to see Blake standing behind me in full
football gear, an angry sneer on his face.

"What are you doing in here, kid? Are those mine?"

Realizing that I'd been caught, I feel like I'm going to faint. I'm
literally shaking, struggling to form words seeing how pissed off Blake
looks. "I--I...uh..."

"You, uh, what?" he snarls. "You're the fucker who swiped all my shit
yesterday? You didn't think I'd come back to make sure it didn't happen
again? I don't even want to know what you were doing with my stuff."

I turn to face him, feeling myself gulp. "No, I just--" I stop talking
the second Blake steps toward me, my whole body trembling thinking that
he's going to punch me in the face. I instinctively draw my hands up to
protect myself, but he just forcefully snatches his flip flops away,
throwing them to the ground.

"I don't have time for this bullshit right now," he growls as he
menacingly jabs a finger into my chest, looking over his shoulder to make
sure no one else is there. "But I'm not finished with you. Be at the
science building tomorrow by 6:00 PM or I'll make sure you're begging to
transfer to another school. Got it?"

I frantically nod my head.

"Now get the fuck out of here, kid," Blake commands condescendingly,
crossing his big arms over his padded chest.

I run out of the football team's locker room for the second day in a row,
and this time I find the strength to literally sprint the whole way home.

Go figure, now that Blake actually knows who I am, I desperately want him
to forget me. I spend the whole night contemplating dropping out of high
school, not wanting to see him ever again, but I knew that wasn't
realistic. I had to face my crimes. I owed Blake that. In a weird way, I
felt like my plan had actually succeeded after all. His vengeance,
whatever form it would take, might finally excise Blake from my brain.
Maybe then I could finally be free.

***

I showed up to school the next day feeling scared shitless. When I
crossed Blake in the hallway, he glared at me like he wanted to kill me,
forcing my head down. I saw his feet pass by, his flip flops restored
after a night of lusty exile. I knew I deserved whatever was coming.

Everything was a total blur until the school day ended. I'd learned
nothing, and everyone I knew must have noticed that I was a total wreck.
But that didn't matter. I planted myself at the science building hours
early, at first trying to catch up on some of the work that I'd missed
obsessing over Blake. I still couldn't focus. I just waited. Maybe the
whole football team was going to show up to kick my ass.

Eventually, I see Blake approaching, alone, even more confidence in his
strut than usual, a look of intense determination on his face. His flip
flops are loudly clacking against the concrete. Maybe now he's going to
finally beat me up. I deserve it.

"Come on," he orders, walking right past me.

I can't bring myself to move. I'm terrified.

Blake stops, turning to face me, his mouth twisting into a vicious scowl.
"If you don't follow me, I'll fucking drag you," he threatens.

I know he means it. I don't have a choice. I fall in line, accompanying
him without any further resistance. "Where...where are we...going?" I
manage to spit out.

"Shut up, kid," he dismisses.

"I'm--I'm sorry, really," I try to apologize, feeling like I'm about to
burst into tears.

Blake freezes, whipping around to grab my arm, jabbing his other finger
into my chest again. "I said shut the fuck up."

His beautiful face looks so stern. Nothing I say is going to stop him.
He's in control.

Blake leads me out to the senior parking lot, pulling keys out of his
pocket and unlocking what must be his car. "Get in," he commands.

I open the door, pulling my book bag off and climbing into the passenger
seat as Blake takes his place next to me. At first I assume he brought me
out here to yell at me in private, but then his keys jingle as he inserts
one into the ignition and turns it. The car starts.

He swivels his head to glare at me. "Shut the fucking door."

"Where--"

"Shut it!" he demands.

I grab the handle and yank the door closed, Blake immediately backing out
of the spot and driving away. He turns out of the parking lot and then on
to the street. I have no idea where we're going. Fuck, where are we
going?

"You have some kind of crush on me, kid?" he asks after a few minutes on
the road, looking slightly less pissed as he peers over.

I stare down at the backpack between my legs. I'm sure he's figured it
all out, but I'm afraid to own up to anything.

"Now you suddenly have nothing to say?" Blake mutters. "What's your
name?"

"Dylan," I whisper, still looking down like a coward.

"I bet you already know mine. What is it?" he quizzes.

"Blake," I whisper again.

He laughs. "Yeah, I thought so."

"Where are we going?" I ask, actually managing to say the words. I hear
his blinker ticking as the car turns.

"We're just driving around right now," Blake answers softly, his whole
disposition seeming to change. He's silent for awhile. "So, you going to
tell me why you snuck into the football locker room to steal my stuff
yesterday?"

I want him to know how bad I feel. I look up guiltily as we stop at a red
light, Blake's head turning to examine me. I can tell from his expression
that he knows exactly what I did. Why do I have to tell him?

"I've seen you," he announces, looking back toward the road, "checking me
out in the hallway, on the stairs. Looking down at my feet all the time.
You think I never noticed? You do it every single day. Who does that?"

Now I actually feel tears welling up in my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
"I won't do it anymore. I just want to go home. Please."

Blake glances over again, all the traces of anger in his face drained
away. "Tell me what you did with my stuff and I can take you home right
now," he promises.

He's not going to let me go until I tell the truth. I sigh loudly,
tilting my head up and banging it against the headrest of Blake's car. My
eyes are closed, but I still cover them with my hand. "Yes, I have a
crush on you," I confess, my voice quaking. "I...touched myself while I
had your clothes. I'm sorry."

Blake is quiet for a minute. "I figured it was you," he says flatly. "But
why did you bring everything back?"

"I felt bad," I answer immediately. "I know it was wrong and I'm
disgusting. I'm sorry. I'll stop looking at you. Can I please go home?" I
hear Blake's blinker ticking again, uncovering my face after he makes the
turn. We're sitting in the driveway of a house I don't recognize. I
glance over at Blake still scared out of my mind.

He grins his perfectly straight white smile, looking intently into my
eyes like he's not mad at all. "You can come inside with me or I can take
you home. What do you want to do?"

I'm so confused, shocked that he's offering me a choice. Why would he
want me to go inside with him? Is he hitting on me? What he'd said about
noticing me checking him out, figuring it was me, is reverberating
through my mind.

"Come on," Blake decides for me, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out
of the car. He walks around to my door, opening it. "Or I can take you
home," he repeats coolly, seeing my hesitation.

What do I have to lose? I immediately leap out, shutting the door behind
myself as we walk up his driveway. "Are your parents home?" I whisper.

Blake laughs like it's a dumb question. "Don't worry about that."

He leads me inside, up the stairs to his bedroom, shutting the door
behind us. I peer up at Blake uncertainly, still nervous. He's towering
over me, but his face looks so kind now, almost empathetic.

"Sorry if I spooked you," he says softly, actually sounding apologetic.
"I had to make sure someone else didn't put you up to pranking me or
whatever."

I start to feel less anxious, but I have no idea what to say. I look up
at him blankly.

Blake smiles disarmingly. "So, you have a crush on me, huh?" he says like
he's amused. "What turns you on the most about me?"

I'm embarrassed to tell him. I stare down at the perfect tanned tops
resting in his flip flops. "Uh..."

"You can say it, I already know the answer," Blake prompts.

"Your feet," I admit sheepishly. I see his toes curling.

"Why do you think I wear flip flops every day, man? I like showing them
off. I liked you noticing."

I look up at Blake's face like I'm stunned. Is he gay? Does he have a
foot fetish too? "Are you--"

"You're pretty cute," he interrupts, stepping out of the shoes and
throwing his big frame down on the bed, his size 12 feet hanging over the
side. "Is this what were you thinking about when you finally smelled
those flops?"

"Yeah," I confess lustily, unable to look away from the incredible sight.
I'd never seen Blake's soles before, but the pink bottoms were as
flawless as the perfect tops, smooth with gorgeous arches.

He curls his toes again. "Want to touch them?"

My jaw drops open. Oh my god, I'm standing in Blake Harrison's bedroom,
staring at the soles of his feet, and he's asking me if I want to touch
them! He smirks seeing me look mesmerized, nodding his head like he's
repeating the offer of permission. I kneel down on the carpeted floor,
Blake's soles mere inches from my face, my cock straining painfully
within my shorts. Part of me thinks this is some cruel joke, that he's
going to lash out and kick me in the head at any moment. I look up
hesitantly at his face, still in awe, but I can tell me he means it. This
is my chance. I reach out, wrapping each of my hands around Blake's huge
feet, gently caressing his soft, warm skin.

"Yeah," he hisses like he's enjoying the sensations.

My fingers trace every inch of each foot, feeling the veins running along
the tops, the fine blond hairs, Blake's incredible toes. I hear him
moaning slightly as I start rubbing them more aggressively.

"Mind if I get a little more comfortable?" Blake asks.

I can't believe he's asking me. I just shake my head silently.

Blake pulls his feet away, planting them on the bed and lifting his butt
up as he grips the waistband of his gym shorts, sliding them off. There's
nothing underneath. His hard dick is sticking up, at least seven inches
long, as he pushes his soles back over the edge of the bed. He starts
stroking.

He really is enjoying this. I feel emboldened, drawing Blake's feet
together and guiding my face into them, his moist soles pressing against
my smooth skin. I inhale the intense, masculine smell of his feet, the
aroma so fresh and strong compared to when I'd sniffed his flip flop,
exhaling my warm breath against his soles. I feel Blake start to gently
push his feet into my face, slowly sliding them up and down, his toes
curling against my skin, brushing against my hair.

"I skipped the shower after practice," he says. "I figured you might like
them better this way if we made it that far."

"I love it," I murmur into his soles, sounding like I was lost in a
trance. No wonder they smelled so incredible. I maneuver my mouth to the
center of one of Blake's soles, parting my lips and gliding my tongue up
along it. I taste his salty sweat.

"Oh fuck," he sighs. "Yeah, lick it, little man."

My dick jumps hearing Blake call me that. I don't know if it's supposed
to be demeaning, endearing, or both, but I like it. I run my tongue over
every inch of his velvety sole, across each of his toes and in between
them, greedily breathing in the sharp, sweaty smell of his feet the
entire time. Blake's moans grow louder, his jacking obviously getting
more intense. I know he's appreciating this as much as I am. I wrap my
mouth around his big toe and start sucking it like I imagined I'd suck a
cock, looking up into his stunning blue eyes.

Blake smiles at me, shaking his head like he can't believe this is
happening. "I'm so glad I caught you bringing my shit back," he says
smugly. "I've always wanted to try this."

I pull my mouth off his toe. "Me too," I whisper, feeling free to
completely unleash. I suck each of Blake's toes individually, taking two
into my mouth at once, and then three. It's a stretch, but I even manage
to fit four, my mouth hungrily bobbing up and down on Blake's sweaty
foot, struggling to fit as much of it as I possibly can inside me. He's
jacking off furiously the whole time, his moans growing more fervent than
ever.

"That feels so good, man. Maybe you should get a little more comfortable
too. Want to stand up?" Blake asks.

I lift my mouth off his toes, his whole foot now covered in my warm
saliva, raising my body up uncertainly. My dick is tiny compared to his
but I know my bulge must be obvious.

"You should take those shorts off."

"Yeah." Before the word even escapes my mouth I'm already unbuttoning
them. I rip the shorts down with my briefs, yanking my shoes off too. Now
my rigid five inches is jutting straight out.

Blake grins seeing how hard I am. "I think you really liked that too,
little man." He strips his shirt off, throwing it aside.

I'm staring at him in awe again. Blake's veiny biceps are thick, his
shoulders bulging out, his perfectly sculpted pecs sticking out above
ridiculously defined six pack abs. I've never seen a guy this muscular
except on the internet.

He knows I'm astonished. "You like my body?" Blake asks seductively,
slowly running a hand between the mounds of muscle on his chest and down
his chiseled stomach.

"It's perfect," I murmur

"You should take your shirt off too," Blake suggests.

I grit my teeth knowing that I look nothing like him. I can't believe he
wants to see stringy 5'7" me shirtless, but I do it.

"That's a beautiful little body," Blake compliments like he really means
it. "I love guys who are smaller than me. Come lay down," he beckons,
patting the space beside him.

My heart starts pounding. Even seeing how turned on Blake was, I never
imagined this was going to progress to more than worshiping his feet. I
wasn't sure what was going to happen now, but I knew I needed to be
beside him. Blake is the man of my dreams, and I would gladly do anything
he wanted. I step up to his bed, climbing in and lowering myself down
next to him. He's so much bigger than I am, my feet barely coming up to
his ankles. He pushes his hairy leg against mine.

"You left your socks on!" Blake complains, his deep voice so close to my
ear.

Before I can react, he lifts his big torso up, reaching his long arms
down and stripping my socks off. He grabs my foot, caressing it with his
rough hand. I'd never really thought about a guy touching my feet, but
Blake's grip is blissful, the middle part of my sole seeming to be
directly connected to my cock. I feel it throbbing even harder as Blake
massages my foot.

"You have cute little feet, kid," Blake says as he lowers himself back
down.

"Thanks," I whisper. "Yours are still way hotter."

He laughs, grabbing his dick and starting to stroke. "Jerk with me," he
invites.

We're both working our rock hard cocks, Blake rubbing his tanned size 12
against my pale foot, when he reaches his free hand to my thigh, grazing
it gently. I immediately start stroking faster.

"You like when I touch you, Dylan?"

"You feel so good," I pant.

Without even looking I know Blake is vainly smiling. "Want to get on top
of me?"

I peer into his blue eyes. "Like...to cuddle?"

"Yeah. I want to feel more of your body against mine."

I release my dick, lifting up and repositioning myself so that I'm
between Blake's legs, our erections mashing together. My arms are hooked
between his armpits, wrapped around his back, my head resting against his
chest. I can hear Blake's heart beating, the smell of the afternoon's
intense football practice wafting up from his pits. I love all of it.
Blake holds me hard, pulling his warm, muscular body into mine, his hands
tracing up my naked back until one of them starts affectionately stroking
my head. His touch gives me chills. I feel closer to Blake than I've ever
felt to anyone in my life.

"You ever kissed a guy?" he wonders, his seven inches throbbing against
my dick.

"No," I answer nervously, lifting my head up and looking into Blake's
eyes again.

"Me neither. You want to try it?"

"If you do," I whisper timidly.

Blake presses his hand gently against my head, pulling me toward his
mouth until our lips meet in a soft kiss. Euphoria surges through my
entire body as we start tenderly locking our lips together, kissing more
and more urgently, our smooth faces rubbing across each other as our
dicks grind between our bodies. We're both starting to breathe harder
when I feel his tongue flick across my lips, and I part them without a
conscious thought. Blake's tongue slips into my mouth, dancing against
mine, greedily pressing deeper, harder, more aggressively. It's the most
amazing sensation I've ever felt, even better than licking his soles and
sucking on his toes. We make out passionately for what feels like fifteen
minutes, both our faces wet with spit when Blake smoothly pulls away.

He smiles gleefully at me, his blue eyes shining so brightly. "That might
be the best kiss I've ever had."

I feel myself smiling too, my heart melting. "Me too," I murmur happily.
I'd harbored my obsessive crush for weeks, and now I feel like I'm in
love with him. My whole mouth is sore.

Blake reaches for his shorts, fishing his phone out of one of the
pockets. "Shit," he mutters, his gaze turning despondent. "I really hate
to say this, but my parents are going to show up any minute now. I better
take you home."

My happy expression shatters. I wanted to spend the whole night with him.
I wanted to spend every night with him. We kiss again, a couple times,
and I finally lift off his muscular body, grabbing my clothes off the
ground and starting to dress myself. I struggle to contain my erection in
the tight fabric, seeing Blake's athletic shorts bulging with his.

He laughs. "We kissed so much we ran out of time to actually get off! I'm
definitely having an epic jerk off session when I get back." He steps his
perfect feet back into the flip flops, grabbing the car keys from his
pocket. "Come on, little man."

I have so many questions I want to ask him, but I know now isn't the
right time. We retrace our path back to Blake's car. As soon as he pulls
out of the driveway, he reaches his hand out to mine, our fingers
intertwining. He looks over contentedly at me.

"You want to come home with me again tomorrow?" he asks

I can't believe any of this is happening. I feel like I'm glowing as I
stare into his beautiful eyes. "I'd love that."

Blake grins at me, gripping my hand harder as his glance shifts back to
the road. "Yeah, so would I."